


The Pull of Old Memories

by robotsandmagicalboys



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BI STEVE, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rating May Change, Sexual Content, Trans Bucky, demi bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7334185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotsandmagicalboys/pseuds/robotsandmagicalboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back in the 1900’s things were easier. He knew what was wrong with him. He knew that the things he wanted and what he was doing were wrong. But now... things are muddled. Confusing. He doesn't know who this Blonde Man is. What the pull in the back of his mind and in his chest means. He doesn't know what any of this means. But he does know that this man won't be just another target anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to write a trans Bucky fic. It's not canon compliant after Captain America Winter Soldier.
> 
> Trigger warnings posted at the end of each chapter.

                Back in the 1900’s things were easier. He knew what was wrong with him. He knew that he shouldn’t want to be a boy. He knew he shouldn’t want to cut his hair short. He knew that when his family all got sick that he shouldn’t cut his hair. That he shouldn’t take his brother’s clothes. That when he finally got dragged to that awful orphanage he shouldn’t have given them his brother’s name instead of his.

                But he did it anyways.

                And as he grew up he wasn’t supposed to get breasts so he hid them. Found scraps of fabric and tied them down. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to bleed from there, so he listened while the girls talked about it to Mother Agatha. He stole cloth to soak up the blood that wasn’t supposed to be there. He knew he wasn’t supposed to get in fights but when he did he made _sure_ to bleed so that when he washing blood out of his clothes no one would know. No one could ever know.

                He knew that like all the other boys he was supposed to start staring and talking about all the pretty girls. He knew he was supposed to say all the sweet things to make them blush and giggle and turn away. He knew that’s what he was supposed to do. So he did it. He learned all the words. Said all the lines. Kissed them when they complimented his smooth face and soft skin.

                He knew he was supposed to prioritize all the pretty girls over anyone else. That he was supposed to want them more than anything else in the world.

                But then he met that scrawny little punk of a kid. And that kid just blew his mind. Steve was his name. Steve Rogers. He practically announced it all over the place as he challenged all the boys twice and three times his size. Coughed out that they’re just a few screws shy of a full box and will never manage anything in life more than being common thugs.

                And before he knows it he’s running. He’s running up and punching a guy he doesn’t know to save a scrawny kid his age. Maybe younger. He punches ‘em all. Gets a split lip and bloody nose and bruises all over his body but he doesn’t care. He just took down the three largest guys he’s ever fought in his life all at once and all for the scrawny kid who just stared up at him.

                “I had ‘em,” said the kid. Said _Steve_.

                “Sure you did,” he grinned. “Names James, but everyone calls me Bucky.”

                “Why on earth do they call you Bucky?” Steve asked.

                “Middle name’s Buchanan.” It wasn’t. It was his brother’s name. But it was his name now. He couldn’t go by James. Not when that was his brother’s name. Bucky though. Bucky was fine. He grinned at the boy. “Bucky’s better than ‘James’ any day.”

                Steve nodded. “Well, thanks…” he muttered and started heading home. But then Steve fell into a heap, coughing up his lungs.

                And he, Bucky, raced over to the kid. Scooped him up and threw his arm over his own shoulder and escorted the kid home. He met his mother and she thanked him over and over again for saving her little boy. And Bucky just grinned and said it was no big deal.

                And he kept finding Steve. He looked for him. He saved him from fight after fight and took him home. He learned that they had it just as hard as all the other kids at the orphanages did too. He did what Mother Agatha said never to do. What they should be above doing. Did what he’d always done for all the sick kids at the orphanage. He stole. He stole for those kids. And he stole for Steve. This person he barely knew.

                He stole and kept saving him and brought him food and sat by him in the park while Steve drew. He stared at his face and studied his features. He paid more attention to him than all those pretty girls he was supposed to like. He stayed over at Steve and his mother’s tiny Brooklyn apartment and whispered with him late into the night.

                And when Steve’s mom got sicker than Steve ever was, he took care of them both. He held Steve while he cried. He held Steve’s hand at the funeral. He got another job to help pay for Steve’s tiny apartment. And moved in with him so the place wasn’t so lonely. So that he didn’t have to look at his mother’s empty bed. So that he had someone to help hold him upright and get the air flowing into his lungs. So that he had someone to take care of him while he was sick. So that he has someone who could work when he couldn’t so they could keep up money and pay for their tiny apartment.

                And things were good. Bucky did what he was supposed to. He was friends with Steve. He took care of him. He went out to bars with guys at the docks and flirted with all the pretty girls but never took any of them home. Never went home with any of them. Just kissed a little maybe. It was fine. Good even.

                And then the war hit. And Steve kept talking about joining the army. And fighting the good fight. And sure the army paid well. Paid way better than all their jobs combined. But Steve wouldn’t last a week. The war would kill him. Hell, he wouldn’t even get to the war. Training would kill him.

                But Steve ran off to every recruitment station he could find. He forged his papers to keep applying when all the places refused to take him.

                So Bucky applied. Applied and was taken instantly. Given that brand spanking new uniform and that pretty check that would cover all their expenses for a full month.

                The look that Steve gave him killed him. The hurt. The betrayal. Those were obvious. But the forced smile was even worse. The forced congratulations. That all the pretty girls would fall for him even easier with that uniform on him. And his face twisted into something Bucky couldn’t read.

                But Bucky didn’t have time to think about that. Not with the war and leaving and training and sending money home to Steve so that he’d be taken care of.

                Training didn’t even last long. He was a good shot with that keen eye he always had. He was told where to shoot and he did it. Kept shooting farther and farther targets and they gave him “sniper training.” Told him how to stay hidden. Taught him how to move in secret. How to take out enemies that his brothers couldn’t see.

                Got complimented with the name that wasn’t his when he did things well.

                The first time he shot a real person, right between the eyes like he was told. Saw the blood through the scope. Saw the body fall. It made his stomach turn. Made him want to puke. But he had to bury that feeling deep down. He was doing this to protect Steve. He was here so Steve _never_ had to witness this. Never had to see the bodies of sick and injured soldiers. Never had to see the burns. The missing limbs. The bombs. Never had to see the way people look when they fall to the ground by your hands. Never had to have the blood on his hands like he did. Like Bucky would for the rest of his life.

                He started drinking. Drank hard. Stopped flirting with girls because even that didn’t matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was Steve. And having him never see any of this.

                And when he got captured that thought was the only thing getting him through. He kept his mouth shut. Took all the beatings. Let Hydra call him names. Cut him. Burn him. Beat him. Break him. He took it all. Took it all so that Steve never would.

                He saw Steve again during those times. Saw his scrawny frame standing over him and blotting the blood off his face with a damp cloth like he always did after fights. He saw them both in their room in their tiny little Brooklyn apartment and Bucky realized he hadn’t sent a check home in who knows how long. And he apologized. Cried so much. He couldn’t take care of Steve in this cell. He was stuck. Trapped. Isolated from the one person he wanted so desperately to see again. The only person he cared about seeing again.

 

                But one time… One time when he saw Steve he was so different. There he was. Broad shoulders. Bright blue eyes. Strong jaw. Looking like something right out of a dream. Looking like the Steve he always wanted to be. How he always saw himself as. Bucky thought that must be the last straw. He finally and completely lost any sense he had before being trapped in this dull, grey, bloody room.

                But when Steve’s hand touched his face it didn’t feel like it did before. It wasn’t a ghost of a cold hand. It was there. Warm big and covered in a leather glove. And Bucky just stared up at him. This couldn’t be Steve. It wasn’t the sickly little boy anymore. He was big and strong and he was _here_. He was in the one place Bucky never wanted him to be.

                Steve said things but it was so hard to hear him as he scooped him up like Bucky had done for him so many times before. Threw his arm over his shoulder and braced him as they walked and escaped that damned place. He moved like Bucky didn’t weigh more than a pillow. And with how _big_ Steve had gotten, Bucky figured he didn’t to him.

                And when Steve pulled his shirt closed before they went outside Bucky realized that he _saw_. Saw the only other thing other than this damn war that he never wanted Steve to see.

                But Steve… Steve never said anything. Took him to a doctor that he trusted. That he said wouldn’t say a thing. And the doctor didn’t. Just fixed him up and sent him back out to be a Soldier again.

                And when Steve asked him to join him. Join this group he had a plan for. Join him to take down Hydra, Bucky couldn’t say no. Cause this was Steve. His Steve. Asking him for something. He never asked for anything. Always pushed away help. And Bucky couldn’t say no. He’d follow Steve anywhere. It was his job to protect him like always. That’s what he did forever. That’s what he always had to do.

                Even after he was better. Cuts and burns had healed over into scars he couldn’t believe that Steve was here. Couldn’t believe Steve was bigger than him. Couldn’t believe Steve didn’t say a word about what he saw. Just took it in stride. Called him Bucky, Buck, idiot, sly dog like he always did. Just acted like nothing changed. Even though Steve was so different now. So much bigger. Stronger.

                But still the same where it counted. The same smirk. The same piece of hair that always fell into his face. The same way he moved his hands. The same way he held his pencil. Everything. Everything about him was the same but so, so different.

                And then there was that redhead. This new dame who had Steve all wrapped up. Had him grinning like an idiot and sharing the smile that he’d only ever shared with Bucky before. And the way it pulled at Bucky’s heart was so new. He knew that Steve was doing what he was supposed to do like all the other guys. Find a pretty girl. Make her laugh. Say all the right things. Only it didn’t look forced from Steve. He loved this girl. Loved her with all his heart and it killed him inside.

                So Bucky went back to doing what he knew how to do best. Protecting Steve. He stayed behind him, watching his back, hiding in the trees, and firing at anyone who dared look at him in the field. Kept firing. Kept moving. Kept following. He’d be there for Steve always. Just like he always had. And nothing was going to change that.

 

                Nothing but a train.

 

                It happened to fast. He was standing in the train. Smiling and talking with Steve and then he was ripped away. Hanging out of the door. And then suddenly there was just _cold_. Cold like he’d never experienced before. Freezing him to the bone. Cold. Cold and darkness.

 

                And then there was lighting. Lighting and burning and darkness and everything he’d ever known ripped away in an instant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings:
> 
> dysphoria, periods, and torture are all referenced. But they're all brief and nothing goes into major detail. (let me know if I should add anything else to this list)
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See notes at the end for trigger warnings

The light always burned when the asset opened his eyes. Each time felt like the first. Until slowly the memories of his training came back as he woke up. Memories of maps and locations and maneuvers and all of the asset’s parts.

                And sometimes when he opened his eyes, something nagged in the back of his mind. Like a dream. Memories of a Blond haired, blue eyed man. Sometimes scrawny and small, coughing and wheezing, eyes red and faced flushed, skin either feverish or icy to the touch. But others he stood tall and proud. Bigger and stronger and carrying a red, white, and blue shield.

                He wasn’t supposed to know this man. Not a target. Not a handler. But he was someone. And for a long time the asset wouldn’t ask about him. He would only bring it up when the quiet nagging grew to a shout, drumming in his mind. When words and phrases and other longer memories came back. When the Blond Man became more than that. Became Steve. Became the man who fought against Hydra. Even though the asset was Hydra’s.

                It was then he’d finally ask. When he was stripped down and in the chair and having The Arm ripped apart and opened and putting new parts in. It was only then he’d ask his handler who the Blond Man was. Who Steve was.

                And every time he did the pain and the burning and the lighting came back. And eventually the cold.

 

                The next time the asset was pulled from the cold and had the pictures of his targets spread before him he saw a Blond Man and a redheaded woman.

                He was told that these people needed to die along with anyone who helped them. That he was traveling to D.C. to kill them there. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t matter when. Just they were dead. It didn’t even have to look like an accident.

                He stared at the photos, studying them carefully. He stared at the Blond Man the most. Something about his face pulled at something in the back of his mind. Something far away. Distant. Out of reach. But something.

                He pushed it back and followed his handler. Following orders like a weapon was supposed to. And fired at anyone he was told to.

 

 

                Neither of the targets were easy to kill like they were supposed to be. It was supposed to be a simple clean job. Bullet though the skull. Get in. Get out. He was supposed to avoid being seen if possible, but if he was seen on this job it didn’t matter. They needed to be dead at all costs.

                But they were all crafty. Had tricks that he didn’t know. Wasn’t told about. And there was a third one who wasn’t supposed to be there.

                He’d cornered the redhead by a series of cars. Didn’t see which ones. She was fast. Too fast. Knew how to get away. How to not be seen. It was things all too familiar to the training burned into his brain. Just as he was about to take another shot at the cars, the Blond Man came running at him. The asset punching the shield. Sound ringing in his ears. Vibrations running all the way through his metal arm.

                He kicked him away, off the car, and fired. But the man hid behind that red, white, and blue shield. So the asset came at him. No holds barred. But every bunch, shot, kick, knife slice, every single last move, this Blond Man blocked or countered. The asset glared, never having to fight someone like this. Hyrda should have warned him. He would have taken more time. Planned more. Attacked them while they were asleep. They should not be this hard to kill.

                The fight had The Arm whirring, muscles burning, and all the while there was this pull at the back of his mind. In his gut. In his chest. Something. Something about this Blond Man kept nagging at him deep inside. And he couldn’t figure out why.

                The Blond Man grabbed his face and flung him. His mask came off but that didn’t matter. No one else was around and the target would be dead soon. He had to be.

                He stood up, prepared to fire at him again, but stopped when he saw the Blond Man’s face. There was something about his eyes he couldn’t read. The expression wasn’t fear or anger. It was one he didn’t know.

                “Bucky?” said the target.

                The asset wasn’t sure what a “Bucky” was. The word was obviously directed at him, but that wasn’t a word in any of the languages he knew. Was it a name? Why would the target call him that? The asset just aimed his gun again.

                But the third one swooped in. Metallic wings shining just out of the corner of his vision, before he was knocked to the ground. The redhead fired one of his discarded guns, blowing up the car next to him. He needed to retreat. Couldn’t take them all on his own. Had to leave. Had to get out of there.

                He ran all the way back to the hide out, ducking through alleys and hiding behind anything close to avoid being seen. He didn’t have the mask. Needed to hide his face. No one could know. No one could see.

                Back at the hideout his handlers were furious. They yelled. Shouted. Shocked him. Beat him. He was a failure. A terrible weapon. A weapon that couldn’t do its job was utterly useless. The Arm was even damaged! His only jobs were to take down targets and keep The Arm in good condition. If he couldn’t do that he was worthless to them.

                They shoved him into the chair again. The Arm needed fixing. He could feel every shock and jolt. Every prick of the wires and tools in The Arm. Felt it burning like it was his own skin.

                He remembered a face. Round, with glasses, and a thick accent. He spoke to him. Spoke to the asset. But didn’t call him that. Called him “Sargent Barnes.” He remembered a train. A fall. The cold. And sharp splitting pain. Waking up to the sound of whirring and metal. More pain in The Arm. No. His arm. His real one. The one that wasn’t there anymore. The one that was replaced.

                And then there was the Blond Man again. Shouting “Bucky!” in a pained voice.

                He shoved away the man working on The Arm. And the clicks of several guns being trained on him. The man he pushed away scrambled to the door. Fleeing.

                He waited in the room with all the guns still aimed. He couldn’t know how long it lasted. But he just breathed. Breathed as more memories came back. Fragments. Some were of people he killed. Missions that had been erased from his mind. Some of the Blond Man.

                Then came footsteps. And more men entering the room.

                “Mission report.” The voice was firm. Tight. Angry. “Mission report now!”

                The asset just stared forward until a sharp sting met his cheek as the man smacked him. The sting didn’t matter. It quickly faded.

                “The man on the bridge,” his throat felt sore and rough. It had been so long since he spoke. Since anyone told him to speak. “Who was he?”

                The man stared at him for a second. “You met him earlier this week on another assignment.”

                No. Yes? Maybe… He couldn’t be sure. “I knew him…”

                The man started talking again, but avoided his question. Talking about “his work.” His work didn’t matter. He was a weapon. He killed those he was told to kill. Nothing else mattered. No. The Blond Man mattered. But this man wouldn’t tell him who the Blond Man was.

                “I knew him,” the asset said again. He needed to know who the Blond Man was. He needed more information.

                The man sighed and turned away. Talking to the others. And more came and pushed him back into the chair. Then came the shock, more intense than the ones before, piercing his skull, and everything went black again.

 

                He woke up sitting in front of the assignment desk, pictures laid in front of him on the table. A single target. A Blond Man. He and people he worked with were going to destroy some of Hydra’s other assets and needed to be stopped. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t matter when. Just they were dead. It didn’t even have to look like an accident. He was going to be placed near one of the vessels they would be targeting and to attack them on site.

               

                He stood in front of the control panel. They told him the Blond Man would be here. That he needed something from it. So he stood and waited. And sure enough there he was. Standing tall and in full uniform. Just staring.

                “People are gonna die, Buck.” His voice was low, firm.

                The asset didn’t know what “Buck” was. A name maybe? He didn’t use it like the verb…

                The Blond Man sighed. “Can’t let that happen.” He kept staring. Wouldn’t look away. Not even for a second. His voice wavered when he spoke next. “Please don’t make me do this.”

                There was another stretch of silence. Waiting. Tension. And then something in the Blond Man snapped and released. He threw his red, white, and blue shield and the asset blocked with The Arm. The shield bounced back to the Blond Man. The asset fired once. Twice with other gun when the first shots were blocked with the shield. The Blond Man kept getting closer and closer. Bullets didn’t make him halt for a second. He knocked the asset back towards the console and kept moving forward. The asset pulled a knife next. Each strike hit the shield hard. Precise. But never met flesh.

                A boot met his stomach hard and sent him falling back onto the catwalk. And the Blond Man got to the console. Fiddling with it. The asset launched himself at him. Kicking. Punching. Swinging. Anything to get the man to be away from that console. He had to fulfil his mission.

                But he was sent back a second time. This time after being hit with that shield. The noise and vibrations resonated in his skull until the sound of beeps interrupted them. The Blond Man punched more buttons on the console and pulled something from it, tossing it aside. He pulled something from a pouch on his belt. Small and green.

                The asset came at him again. Full force, pushing him back on the catwalk. Making him retreat not even a meter. But it wasn’t enough. He slammed into the Blond Man with the full force of his body, sending them both flying over railing and onto the platform below. There wasn’t a lot of space. Just barely enough room for the two of them to move. The asset needed to knock him from this one as well. Get him as far away from the console as possible.

                But somehow it was him who was dangling from the edge of the platform, kicked away. Falling right next to the red, white, and blue shield. He picked it up as the Blond Man reached for the green object from the floor and threw it at him, as hard as he could, gears in The Arm whirring.

                It hit him square in the back and knocked him to the ground. The asset fired at him again, but the Blond Man, managed to shield himself as usual. But he had to get closer. Had to fight. Had to stop him. He had to complete his mission.

                The Blond Man threw the shield at him and the asset knocked it away. A foolish mistake. He took the opportunity to get his knife into the Blond Man’s shoulder and while he hissed in pain, the asset dove for the green object. Needed to keep it away. Far away.

                A boot hit his back and strong hands grabbed his arm, wrenching it backwards. Muscles pulling. Pain shooting through him. But that couldn’t stop him. He couldn’t let it. And then there was a crack and he felt his shoulder move out from its socket. His arm was useless.

                He still clutched at the green object while the Blond Man flipped him, both of them landing on their back. A tight arm wrapped around his throat. Sucking in what little air he could burned and he reached with The Arm only to have it grabbed and put into another lock by the Blond Man’s leg.

                With both arms rendered useless and vision going blurry there wasn’t much he could do.

                Darkness came again soon.

 

                The next time he woke there was warmth and a heavy weight on his stomach. When he blinked his eyes open the ship was in ruins. Small fires breaking out everywhere and a heavy steel frame pinning him to the glass. He pushed on it. Trying to get himself some leverage, but with his still dislocated shoulder there wasn’t much he could do. Couldn’t get enough lift to get it off from him.

                Until it wasn’t too much. And the frame was moving, just barely. The sounds of the straining Blond Man came from his right. He stared for a moment, wondering why his enemy would help him like this, before he crawled to freedom. He stared at the Blond Man. Waiting for him to attack again.

                But instead came the quiet words “You know me.”

                They rang through him, cutting deeper than any knife had. And there was this _pull_. This tugging at the back of his mind. Those words meant something. But all that came with it was anger.

                “No I don’t!” the asset shouted, words ripped from somewhere inside him.

                He threw himself at the Blond Man. Knocking him back. Because fighting was simple. He knew how to do that. It’s what he was made to do. All that a weapon should do. Follow orders. Fight. Kill.

                “Bucky…”

                The pull came again. He hated it. Hated how it screamed in his mind. How he _knew_ that name and at the same time it felt so foreign to him.

                Part of the vessel exploded but the sound felt so distant to him. Nothing like the roaring in his ears every time the Blond Man spoke.

                “Your name… is James Buchanan Barnes.”

                Thousands of voices saying that name rang in his skull. Deafening. And the splitting pain in his head grew so much worse.

                “Shut up!” he screamed, swinging again at the Blond Man, knocking him to the ground.

                But the Blond Man stood once more. He always stood. Kept getting back up. No matter what the asset did, this man just wouldn’t die!

                “I’m not gonna fight you.” His voice was strained, tired. The shield fell from his arm, down through the broken glass to the ground below. He stared at the asset, eyes determined. “You’re my friend.”

                The asset didn’t have friends. He was a weapon. A tool. A thing. Things didn’t need friends. Didn’t have friends. He just threw himself at the Blond Man, knocking him to the ground and he _finally_ didn’t get back up. Just lay there beneath him. Staring up.

                “You’re my mission,” the asset’s voice felt rough and raw every time he spoke. But this time was worse. So much worse.

                He used The Arm to punch the man. Over and over and over. Until the skin on his face cracked and bled, but the Blond Man wouldn’t die.

                “Then finish it.” The Blond Man’s voice was softer than he’d ever heard. It rang with a determination that the asset didn’t understand. “Cause I’m with ya’ til the end of the line.”

                There was that feeling again. That tug. That ache at the back of his mind for something that he was supposed to know. Something so familiar and yet so out of reach.

                And in an instant the Blond Man was ripped out from under him as a hunk of metal fell nearby, knocking the glass out from underneath them. The asset grabbed a metal beam and watched as the Blond Man fell along with all the other debris.

                The asset knew he’d nearly beaten the Blond Man to unconsciousness. That if the fall into the water didn’t finish him off, not being able to move and drowning in that water would. That would be it. He’d complete his mission. The man that Hydra wanted dead would be no more and his mission would be complete.

                But that didn’t explain the tightness in his stomach. The feeling that could only be called _dread_ as he watched the Blond Man’s body sink into the water.

                If he let go now, there would still be time to save him. And just like that… his fingers slipped away from the metal beam. And he was falling into the same water as the Blond Man. The dirty water stung his eyes and was nearly too murky to see in, but he couldn’t mistake that shape. He swam as fast as he could over to the body and pulled it to the surface. Then over to the shallow shore line. It was easier than it should have been with the aches in his body and the heaviness of the other man. But the asset moved without thinking. He went back into the water. Searching for that red, white, and blue shield to lay next to the man before walking away.

                Hydra couldn’t know he helped the target. Purposely disobeyed orders. Abandoned his mission. He had to disappear. Luckily they’d trained him how. He walked as far as his feet would carry him until he found an old alley. Broke into the back of a store and took the first clothes he could find. He stripped in the alley, never breaking pace, and put on the new clothes. He couldn’t even keep his boots. Who knew what kind of tracking devices they would have on them.

                The biggest flaw in this plan was The Arm. They’d undoubtedly put tracers on it. There was no way they wouldn’t. The Arm was the most important part of the asset and it couldn’t be lost. His body could go. Could always be replaced. But The Arm was what really mattered. For now he would just have to keep moving then. Keep moving so that Hydra couldn’t touch him.

                He’d figure out what to do after that later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings:
> 
> brief, vague references to torture. canon typical violence. depersonalization: Bucky refers to himself as "the asset," "a weapon," and "a thing" frequently in the chapter. he does not recognize himself as human whatsoever.
> 
>  
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end of chapter notes for trigger warnings.

The memories came back in bits as he traveled and hid. Sometimes they were small. The feeling of a new gun in his hands. A target falling. Walking through cold snow in an old city. But sometimes a feeling he’d never experienced before hit him and it crippled him. Freezing where he stood, staring into space. The pain of loss. Being gripped with fear. This ache in his chest that just would not leave him.

                For those two months and 26 days he kept moving. Kept hiding. Fought only when he had to. And tried not to let the memories distract him. But it quickly grew into too much. He wanted orders again. Wanted someone to tell him what to do and where to go. Because that’s what a weapon did. A weapon followed orders. A weapon didn’t leave its handler. It stayed put. Ready to use whenever its handler needed it. But disobeying a direct order would get him decommissioned. He’d go back into the darkness and cold for the last time and as much as he wanted to do that, something inside him told him he couldn’t.

                He couldn’t stop thinking about the Blond Man’s last words either. That he was “with him til the end of the line.” He’d heard them before. Said them before? And it ate at him. Twisting his stomach. Gnawing. He needed to know.

                Going back to Washington D.C. was dangerous. Foolish. He knew that since it was the last place he was found Hydra was bound to be crawling there. They had several bases there. But after the Blond Man stopped their big mission, they were bound to be pushed out. Move to somewhere more inconspicuous. But it had been two months and 26 days since then. If he was thinking it was a lower risk situation to go back, the rest of Hydra probably was too. But he’d been avoiding them for this long, he could stay out of their reach again. Just long enough to get the information he needed.

                He remembered a building in Washington D.C. One that had all kinds of information inside. A museum. It was bound to have something useful. He didn’t know what just yet, but he’d find it when he got there. Getting their safely had to be his priority now.

 

                The museum was bigger than he expected. Several buildings. Too many buildings. He walked until he found the one labeled “American History” and wandered inside. Looking at the old cars, toys, and other various objects. Small plaques with words on them explained the importance of each one, but he ignored them. Wasn’t what he needed.

                He stopped when he saw the Blond Man’s face on a big poster outside of a dark room. His feet pulled him forward. Even though his mind screamed that this was a terrible idea.

                “A symbol of America,” said a loud voice, one not from his mind but overhead. Coming from a speaker posted close to the door. Its voice sounded solemn. Reverent.  Too different from the kinds he was used to. “The story of Captain America is one of honor. Bravery. And sacrifice.”

                He walked through the exhibit. Past the large painting of the Blond Man in uniform. It felt strange hearing the name “Captain America.” Something about it didn’t feel right. That was the Blond Man, but wasn’t at the same time.

                He stared at a picture of the Blond Man, but he was much smaller. Younger? His frame was thin and frail, arms barely more than bones. Too big clothes hanging off from him. Something inside him pulled again. He knew him. Knew him when he was like this. Knew him before he grew.

                “Denied enlistment, due to poor health…”

                His arms suddenly felt heavy, back stiff, as the memory of sitting behind the Blond Man, supporting him. Making sure he could breathe easier.

                “Steven Rogers was chosen for a program unique in the annals of American warfare.”

                Steve. _The kid introduced himself so many times. The first time he’d heard it, Steve was yelling at some guy three times his size. Scolding him. They’d laughed at him. Beat him. He was already bleeding and looked ready to fall over. But that didn’t stop him from yelling at this guy who could probably kill him._

                “One that would transform him into the world’s first super soldier.”

                He shook his head and moved forward. Had too. Couldn’t stay here. He walked, barely listening to the narrator anymore, until he came to another large portrait. This time of a young, dark haired man. There was a name beside it on the plaque. Bucky Barnes. 1917-1944.

                He remembered the Blond Man, Steve, calling him that. This memory was easy. Didn’t have to be ripped from somewhere deep inside. Didn’t punch him in the gut and leave him staring into the distance trying not to get lost in the things he was seeing like the others.

                This man on the plaque was him. Steve didn’t lie. Not to him. Not about something like this. He wasn’t Hydra. But this man wasn’t him. In the clips he smiled with Steve with an ease the new him never had. Bucky didn’t have a metal arm. Bucky was dead. Died in 1944. On a mission. But the new him stood. Staring at his old face, not recognizing it. The only reason he knew it was him was that name. Remembering Steve calling him that.

                This dark room with all the people felt too small. Air too thick. Hard to take in breath. His heart pounded in his chest and there was _pain_ so much pain. So he ran. Got out of that too small room as fast as he could and ran as far away his legs would carry him. Before the burn was too much to take. Before his legs gave out and he knelt in the alley gasping for air that just wouldn’t come.

                He leaned against the alley wall, pulling his limbs as close to his center as possible, hand on his knife just in case he needed it. He didn’t know how long it took for his breath to come back easier again. And his heartrate slowed to acceptable levels. He couldn’t stay here. Washington D.C. He needed to keep moving.

                It took him another nine days to get to New York City. Delayed by avoiding Hyrda bases and needing to rest after fights. But he made it there. Needed to be there. Had to get somewhere familiar. Somewhere safe. And even though there were Hydra bases in New York City, there were less than in Washington D.C. and should remain consistently less active due to Stark Tower being in the area. Being right at the Avenger’s doorstep was important to monitor them, but it made activity in the area too difficult. But he’d have to avoid the Avengers too. All but one.

                Combing through the city for Steve was even worse. He slept in back alleys in Brooklyn. Stole food when he needed it. And finally he found a place that was likely to be Steve’s. A small apartment in Brooklyn in a refurbished building. Third floor on the west side. He combed through the place and found Blond hair the right length on the pillows and furniture. Clothes in the drawers were the right size. Shoes by the door the right size too. Appropriate amount of security in the apartment for someone who fought groups like Hydra and who knows what else. Otherwise the place was sparse. Only absolutely necessary furniture. Must move around a lot.

                He sat in a corner in the living room, a spot that would make it difficult for someone to see him from any of the windows, and in turn made it difficult for him to see out of them, but it gave him clear views of all the doors. And if anyone started to come through them he would notice.

                He waited in the silence of the apartment barely moving for three days. He needed to be here in case Steve came back. He couldn’t miss the opportunity. Late evening on that third day he heard footsteps and a voice approaching from the hall. The click of the lock in the door.

                “Yes, Sam, I promise there’s good burger places in New York,” Steve’s voice was tired, but happy. “I’ll show you…” Steve froze when their eyes met. He gripped the phone tight, only blinking and relaxing when the voice on the phone spoke again. “Yeah, I’ll show you my favorite place when you get here, Sam. Look I’m really tired… I should get some sleep. And you’ve got a flight to catch.” A pause. “Yeah, take care.” He hung up the phone and slowly put it back in his pocket.

                Steve stared at him like he wasn’t sure if he was real or not. “Buck?” his voice was quiet.

                He couldn’t nod. He wasn’t the man that Steve wanted him to be. But he wasn’t here to kill him like he had been before. Steve walked closer and knelt in front of him. “Bucky? Are you okay?”

                He didn’t know how to respond to that one either. He was functional. Could move. Could fight. Could be used as a weapon was supposed to be. But things were getting muddled. Too many thing in his head. So much more than his training. Fragments of things from before. Fragments he didn’t understand. It was too much. He didn’t know how to respond anymore. He just wanted orders. Orders were easy. He could understand orders. He always hated questions. They had too many variables to be able to always give the right answer.

                Steve just sighed. “Can you stand?”

                He nodded, breathing a small sigh of relief at the easy question. Steve guided him to his feet and then to a small room without a window. A bathroom. Steve pushed open the glass door and turned the water on. He tested the temperature with his hand then shut the glass door again, turning to face him. “Take a shower and then meet me in the living room, okay?”

                He nodded and started pulling off his clothing, discarding it to the floor. He climbed into the tub and watched the brown water flow off from him. He stared down at the drain, waiting for a long time for the water to run clear. He turned the water off and pulled his clothes back on. They stuck uncomfortably to his damn skin.

                Steve looked up as he walked back into the living room. “You know you’re supposed to dry off before your put your clothes on, Buck.” His tone was teasing, but his face seemed tight. Concerned.

                He just shook his head, pulling at his damp shirt.

                Steve sighed and gestured for him to come closer, so he did. Steve stared at him again. “Sit down, Buck…”

                He did as he was told, sitting in the spot on the couch Steve had glanced at.

                “When was the last time you ate?” Steve asked.

                “Four days ago…”

                “Christ, Bucky,” Steven sighed. “I’ll… I’ll get you something, okay? Just… stay here.”

                He waited on the couch. Just as he was told. And listened while Steve rummaged around in the kitchen. Breathed in the smell of cooking eggs. Didn’t take long for Steve to bring him a large plate of food. He took it and started shoveling the food in, still unsure when he’d get this chance again. Hydra could still be tracking him. He’d been here for three days. They could find him.

                Steve hovered while he ate. Watched him carefully. Tense.

                He didn’t want to look up at Steve. Didn’t want to meet his eyes like a challenge. He just wanted to stay. Wanted Steve to give him orders. He’d trust Steve’s orders. He couldn’t be Hydra’s weapon anymore, but he could be Steve’s. He’d fought for Steve before. The old Bucky did. He could do it too.

                “Bucky,” said Steve, voice low. “My friends… they know I’ve been looking for you. I won’t be able to hide you here for long without them realizing.”

                Steve’s phone beeped.

                “Sorry.” Steve fumbled trying to pull the phone from his pocket. “I should take this.” Steve walked out to the kitchen. “Steve Rogers.” A pause. “Thought that might be you, Nat. I’m at my apartment in Brooklyn.” His heartbeat raced and his tone grew tight. “I know. I found him… he was here. In my apartment. Just hiding in a corner.”

                He felt Steve’s eyes on him, though only briefly.

                “No, he hasn’t done anything,” Steve sighed. “He’s barely even spoken.” He nearly choked on his words, voice cracking. “I don’t know what to do, Nat. He’s so- I don’t know how to help him.”

                Before he knew it his feet were moving. Steve sat curled into a ball in the kitchen, back to the counter. He sat beside him. He couldn’t know what Steve wanted, but he could be there for when Steve did. When Steve gave him new orders.

                Steve looked up at him, face still damp. “Yeah, I’m here, Nat.” Steve took a deep breath and leaned against him. “Wait, aren’t you in Russia? You can’t just come to New York…” A sigh. “Alright… Don’t worry, I’ll keep him here.” He lowered the phone and tossed it to the side.

                They sat in the kitchen for a while. He listened while Steve breathed. Waiting. Steve finally looked over at him again.

                “When was the last time you slept?”

                “Five days ago…”

                “Christ, Bucky,” Steve sighed again and stood, holding out his hand for him. He took it and Steve pulled him to his feet. “You should sleep.”

                “Where?”

                Steven led him to a bedroom. The only bed room. Steve’s room.

                “But this is yours…”

                Steve pat his shoulder. “I’ll take the couch, buddy. You need the bed more.”

                “Weapons don’t need beds.”

                Steve’s whole body went tense, the hand still resting against his shoulder clenched. He took a deep breath before speaking. “Bucky, just… take the bed.”

                He sighed and nodded. He sat down on the bed and pulled off his shoes while Steve watched. Steve didn’t leave until he’d laid down. His body ached and he knew he needed rest, but it wouldn’t come. Just stared at the ceiling. Listened to the sounds in the apartment. Steve moving around. Cleaning the plate. Watching something on TV. The sounds of his quiet breathing. And eventually silence.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: panic attach described in detail. Depersonalization, Bucky still does not see himself as human and refers to himself as a weapon.
> 
>  
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is nearly 4k on it's own dang.
> 
> As usual trigger warnings are all posted at the end of the chapter.

                When Bucky left Hydra, recovering from what he’d done to them had never been a goal. He didn’t know how to make goals really. Just knew how to survive from day to day. But slowly as he spent time with Steve, more of his memories came back to him. And he realized it was something he desperately needed.

                But of course it wasn’t so simple. The flashbacks seemed easy to handle at first. At home, Steve’s home, staring into space wasn’t a big deal, but whenever he went outside with Steve, suddenly stopping and staring into the distance got him concerned looks and even worse questions. Concern. And a stranger getting too close or touching him sometimes caused his chest to tighten and breathing became too difficult. With Steve it was easy. Steve could talk them out of it, step between him and people, escort him somewhere quiet.

                But Steve couldn’t be with him all the time. He needed handle things on his own too. And that’s when the flashbacks became too much. At best he’d forget where he was for a little while and back away from anyone. At worst he’d shove people away and run to somewhere he felt safe in, clutching at his arm, the metal one, trying to claw it off. It didn’t feel right. Wasn’t him. But it was.

                Steve still didn’t know how to help Bucky very well, told him as much. But Steve always did what he could. Was an ear to listen when he needed it. A shoulder to cry on. A person to help ground him when things quickly became too much.

                Bucky also started spending more and more time with Steve’s friend Natasha. She understood. Knew what it was like to go from being a weapon to human. She didn’t know how to handle the lost memories, but the other things she could help with. Subtly reaffirming his humanity. Reminding him that what he did while he was the Winter Solder was _not_ him. They’d spar when he felt ready to jump out of his skin from tension, anger, and other feelings he wasn’t sure about.

                Bucky mostly stayed away from the other Avengers, even though they stayed in Stark’s Tower. They were all too loud. Too energetic. Too suspicious of him. He didn’t want to deal with it, so he didn’t. They ate meals together every once in a while, but only if Steve or Natasha was there too. Bucky preferred it when they were both there. He could sit between them, no one else getting too close to his space. No one making him want to claw of his own skin as he ate.

                With the avengers at least he didn’t have to hide the metal harm. Stark even made him a new one. The other one was dangerous, for him and everyone else. Stark said it wasn’t to save him but to keep everyone else safe. Stark didn’t trust him. But he still made the arm. Still preened at his own work.

                As much as he would never admit it to Stark, he couldn’t be more grateful for the new arm. As he was coming too, learning to be human again, he started hating the metal arm. It was a reminder of Hydra. Of things that weren’t him. Things they did to him. The pain whenever he moved it became more apparent. A weapon didn’t care about pain. But Bucky, the person, started too. Stark made him the new one that didn’t hurt to move. Banner cleaned up his arm and made the still human parts underneath it less frayed and worn. Less infected. Less rotting. The new arm was still metal. Just… sleeker. Less crude. Stark took into account that he’d have to hold things other than guns and knives. Gave him better pressure sensitivity. It made it easier to use. And after a while it stopped feeling less alien. Started feeling more like a real part of him.

                Steve liked to talk to him about the past. Liked having someone else who remembered the cold Brooklyn winters. The way bananas used to taste. The war. That he wasn’t always Captain America.

                “The Avengers are great,” Steve sighed. “But they still have only known me as Captain America… They see Steve too… but not in the same way.”

                Bucky nodded, leaning against him on the couch in Steve’s room.

                “Have you remembered anything new?” Steve asked.

                “Maybe…” Bucky muttered. “I keep remembering a feeling… I’m not sure what it is…”

                “Is it from before or…” Steve let the question trail off.

                “Before,” said Bucky. A pause. “Before the war… during too sometimes… It’s weird…”

                Steve rubbed his arm, the real one, gently and silently keeping him here. From getting lost in his memories. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

                Bucky swallowed. “It’s… I’m not sure. There’s always a tightness in my chest… a longing… And then fear. I knew I had to hide it…” He rubbed his face and huffed out a breath. “He didn’t even know what it was! How am I supposed to know!?”

                “We’ll figure it out, Buck,” Steve’s voice stayed calm low. Still gently rubbing his forearm. Pressure grounding Bucky again. “Do you remember what was going on when you felt like that?”

                Bucky took a deep breath. Mostly it was just the feeling. But sometimes… “You’re there…”

                Steve blinked. “Me?” Bucky nodded and Steve quickly looked away.

                “Is something wrong,” Bucky asked.

                “No,” Steve said quickly, voice a little too loud. He cleared his throat. “Nothing’s wrong. Keep going.”

                Bucky looked back at the spot on the wall. “It’d get worse when you were with the redhead… Carter?”

                Bucky saw Steve nod out of the corner of his eye. “Her name was Peggy Carter. She was an agent and helped found Shield after I died...”

                “You were sweet on her,” Bucky said. It wasn’t a question. He saw the way he smiled when she was around. Saw his nervousness. Steve always talked highly of her. Stared when he thought she wasn’t looking. Kept a picture of her in his compass like a locket.

                “I-,” Steve sighed. “Yeah… I was.”

                Bucky shook his head a little. “It’s a little ridiculous that you thought you could hide it from him…” Sometimes it hurt to call the old Bucky “me.” Sometimes it came easy. Sometimes it felt too foreign. Like he was another person completely. And really he was. Different person. Different memories. Some of the same memories, but Bucky had changed so much. He wasn’t the same man he was in 1944. Sometimes they felt the same. Sometimes it was like two different people competing in his head.

                “I wasn’t trying to hide it,” said Steve. Bucky shot him a disapproving look because, really, Steve should know better than to spit out such a blatant lie. “Okay I was… but just because there was so much more going on at the time.”

                “Hunting Hydra,” Bucky said and Steve nodded.

                Steve sighed. “I probably should have done something about it sooner. But I was so scared she’d say no… and I kept making excuses not to.” He rested his head back against the couch. “We’d only made plans for a date when we both knew I was going to die.”

                Bucky sighed. “Steve, you’re such a _dumbass_.”

                Steve laughed. “I know… but it’s long past now. She got a great husband… lived a good life.”

                “But what about _you_ , Steve,” Bucky asked. “You just wake up in 2014 and move on?”

                “There were so many other things going on, Bucky…”

                “There’s _always_ something going on, Steve,” Bucky sighed. “A war. Maybe just a man with too much power doing a lot of terrible things. Something! Try and just do something _you_ want for once. The world isn’t going to end because you’re not a selfless fucking martyr one hundred percent of the damn time.”

                Steve just stared at him. “I’m not a martyr…”

                Bucky frowned at him. “You basically died after you destroyed the last Hydra base at the time. You _almost let me kill you_ for some stupid reason. How are you _not_ a martyr?”

                Steve frowned and looked away. “Someone has to do it, Buck.”

                Bucky groaned. “Oh my god, this is what I’m talking about Steve.” He sighed and stood. “I’m gonna go back to my room.”

                “Okay, goodnight, Bucky…” said Steve.

                “Night,” Bucky muttered and left.

                Sleep came restlessly that night. Waking up sweating. Memories flooding his dreams. Watching Steve throw himself into action. Only in the dreams Bucky couldn’t get there fast enough. He’d shoot one person, but then there’d be more. Too many more. He couldn’t shoot them all. His rifle just wasn’t fast enough. _He_ wasn’t fast enough. And no matter how much Steve tried to hide it, he wasn’t bullet proof. And Bucky wouldn’t be able to get to him fast enough. He’s always see him on the ground, riddled with bullets, bleeding on the forest floor, and be too late.

                After the third dream like that he didn’t go back to sleep. Sat in the windowsill staring out at the lights of the city. Too close to dawn to truly appreciate them, but it was something. The cars drove by in a rhythm. Easy to breathe to. He waited for a decent hour before walking down the hall and knocking on Natasha’s door.

                She answered the door looking tired, hair a mess. “It’s early, Bucky,” she sighed.

                “Can we train today?”

                “Sure,” she yawned. “Everything okay?”

                Bucky shrugged a little and sighed. “I don’t know.”

                Natasha stared at him for a few moments then nodded. “Meet me in the gym in fifteen minutes.”

                “Thank you,” said Bucky before leaving to get changed.

                He ended up in the elevator with Natasha, both riding in silence before she decided to break it. “Nightmares again?”

                Bucky nodded. “Yeah… but not about missions or… not about _those_ missions.”

                “From the war?” Natasha asked.

                “Yeah,” said Bucky. “Only they weren’t right… the other nightmares play out exactly as things really happened… they were bad enough. But in these Steve was just getting hurt and I couldn’t save him. He died.”

                Natasha nodded. “Dreams like those happen.”

                They stretched and wrapped their wrists. Not like either of them really needed to. They knew how to punch without injuring themselves. But Bucky didn’t like punching with his metal arm without wrapping it. Didn’t want to cut Natasha. And Natasha has complained about cutting herself on the metal, so the wraps prevented the problem.

                Bucky paused when he no longer heard Natasha moving around, smacked the Velcro down and went on high alert. He’d wait for Natasha. He knew better than to go looking for her. She’d get to a vantage point and following was a trap. Always a trap. There was shift of skin on the gym floor and he turned around and swept with his foot, causing Natasha to jump back.

                She smirked at him and came back at him with quick, precise strikes. She kept moving forward, making him back up, towards the wall. He shifted slightly to the left, moving towards the weapons stand. When they were close enough he grabbed a bo staff and swung at her. She jumped back, blocking with ease.

                They fought like that for hours. Each grabbing different weapons. Guns came out today. The rubber bullets stung, but brought him focus. Clarity. At the end of the session they both sat on the floor, breathing heavily.

                Natasha put the pistol down. “What’s on your mind today?”

                Bucky furrowed his brows. “I’m not sure… I was talking to Steve yesterday and I told him I kept remembering this feeling but I didn’t know what it was.” Bucky told Natasha the same things about the feeling. The longing. The tightness in his chest. That it grew worse when Steve was with Agent Carter.

                Natasha’s expression softened and she smirked a little. “This one’s easy Bucky. You had me worried for a second there.”

                “What is it?” Bucky asked.

                “You’re in love with Steve,” Natasha said plainly. “Or at least you were. The old Bucky definitely was. I’ve seen the footage. How he stared at Steve.”

                Bucky looked down. “There’s more… stuff I didn’t tell Steve…”

                “Like what?” Natasha asked.

                “That he was afraid to tell him,” Bucky sighed. “He always knew there were things wrong with him. The old Bucky… He… He hated himself for it. And as much as he cared about Steve… it tore him apart sometimes. He never told Steve. And I don’t think he realized he loved him like that either…”

                Natasha nudged him briefly. “What about you, Bucky? How’s this you feel about Steve?”

                Bucky leaned forward, feeling the joints in his metal fingers carefully. Putting pressure on each “bone” just to feel it. “He’s the most important person in the world to me… I’d do anything for him. I-” He paused. “I want him to be happy… I want him to be happy with _me_. But I’m not sure if he can after what I’ve done.”

                There was another reason too. As his memories started coming back he knew that his body was wrong. In more ways than just the metal arm. He wasn’t sure Steve would want someone like him.

                “No one but him will know, Bucky.” She squeezed his shoulder, the real one, gently. “You should talk to him. Don’t ask the what ifs. Steve will never hate you. You’ll always be best friends. But if you want something _different_ , then you’ll have to talk to him to see if he feels the same way. And I think you should find that answer. Even if it isn’t the one you want, at least you’ll have closure. You won’t have to wonder.”

                Bucky nodded, feeling a little reluctant, but he knew Natasha was right. He gave her a small smile. “Thank you.”

                She patted him on the back and stood. “Don’t mention it. I’m gonna go shower. You should too. We’re both disgusting.”

                Bucky snickered. “Says you.”

                Natasha kicked him lightly and walked back to the elevator. Bucky waited, cleaning up the gym and putting things back in their places before going up to his room to shower as well. He wanted to put off talking to Steve about this as long as possible.

 

                It turned out to be another week before Bucky worked up the courage. Each time he’d see Steve’s face the aching feeling would come back. The longing for closeness. Touch. To kiss. Anything Steve would give him. And the thought of being told no hurt.

                But what hurt even worse was the thought of Steve saying _yes_ for his sake. Steve and his stupid martyr complex. He’d do anything for Bucky. But did that include being in a relationship he didn’t want to be in? Bucky wasn’t sure. He wouldn’t put it past Steve at least.

                He could only put it off for so long though. Before things grew to be too much.

 

                He waited until they were on a mission together. Hunting some crime boss. Bucky waited on a rooftop outside of the gang’s hide out, watching through the scope of his rifle for the Boss. The mission dragged on for much longer than either expected.

                “He just won’t _leave_ ,” Steve sighed. “He won’t just up about the drug ring plans. I wish he would just take a smoke break. Even his employees are bored. I can hear them from here.”

                “Should you _really_ be talking then?” Bucky asked. “As nice as your voice is we don’t want to blow cover.”

                Steve coughed. “What was that?”

                “You have a nice voice.”

                “I… thank you,” said Steve.

                Bucky focused his scope on Steve, who sat hiding in a shabby looking car. Blush rose in his face and Bucky couldn’t help but grin. Blush was good right?

                “Come on,” said Bucky. “You won America over with that smile and pretty face of yours. I’m sure your smooth voice didn’t help either.” More blush. Bucky smirked.

                “Those videos were so awkward,” Steve sighed.

                “Uh huh.” Bucky rolled his eyes and focused his rifle where it was supposed to.

                Bucky was about to make another remark when the crime boss finally walked out of his building and into the nearby alley for a smoke break. Bucky waited until the side door swung completely shut before firing. The tranquilizer dart hit him right in the neck and the boss slumped down to the ground.

                “Target in east side alley,” Bucky stated plainly into the mic. “Awaiting new orders.”

                “Just hang tight, Buck,” said Steve. “I’ll let you know when I’m at the rendezvous point.”

                Bucky blinked and shook his head then started down the fire escape. “Sorry, Steve. I’m alright. I’ll be down soon.”

                Steve sighed in relief a little. “Good to have you back, Buck.”

                Steve stopped the car at the street corner a few blocks down and Bucky climbed into the back seat. He put zip ties on the boss’s wrists and ankles just in case he decided to get up and get rowdy. He’d gag him too, but since they were going to drop him off at the police station that wouldn’t look too great. They got into a fire fight with a few other cars once the gang realized that their boss was gone, but with Steve’s reckless driving and Bucky’s shooting, they didn’t last too long. They made it to the police station and Steve took the boss inside.

                Bucky climbed into the front passenger seat and put his feet up on the dash. Steve returned to the car shortly and they started the long drive back to Stark’s tower.

                “Something going on today?” Steve asked.

                “Hm?” Bucky wasn’t sure what he meant.

                “You’ve been back to your old self lately, but…” Steve paused. “It’s a little… different.” Bucky just waited for him to continue. “You’ve always been a bit of a flirt, but never… with me.”

                Bucky took a deep breath. No getting around it now. “Do you have a problem with it?” … Not what was supposed to come out of his mouth.

                “Well no,” Steve muttered. “I’m just… confused. You’ve always been a ladies man I didn’t think-”

                “Actually,” Bucky’s voice came out much softer than he’d intended. “He just flirted with women because he felt like he had to… it was what was expected from him…”

                “Oh,” said Steve. Another pause. “So you like men then?”

                Bucky shrugged a little. “Not really… feels weird to say I ‘like men’ if I’ve only ever liked one man like that.”

                Steve’s voice grew tight. “He’s a lucky guy.”

                “Oh my god, you idiot, it’s you,” Bucky groaned. “I love _you_. I always have.”

                Steve coughed, face quickly growing red. “You-”

                “Why do you think I save you all the time?” Bucky asked. “Before and after the serum. And I stuck with you. You were the first person I felt _safe_ with after getting out of the Hydra bases _both_ times.”

                Steve parked the car on the side of the road, hiding his face in his hands.

                “I loved you before and I still do now,” Bucky sighed. “That was the feeling I told you about… the one I didn’t know what to call it.”

                “Can you give me a minute?” Steve nearly choked on his words.

                Bucky froze and nodded. His whole body went stiff and he stared out the window. Why did he pick a car to do this in? Everything was too small. Too closed off. He could feel the heat radiating off from Steve as well as the cool night air. Bucky scratched at his shoulder.

                “I’m not mad,” Steve said quickly. “I just… I’m really surprised… I never noticed.”

                Bucky sighed. “I’m not sure how you couldn’t…”

                “You just,” said Steve. “You always flirted and went for girls. I never thought there was any room for me…”

                “ _Steve_ ,” Bucky sighed. “I did everything I could for you.”

                “We were best friends!” Steve countered.

                Bucky sighed.

                “Hey, Bucky?” Steve’s voice was quiet. Bucky just looked over at him. Steve smiled, blush creeping into his cheeks. “I love you too.”

                Bucky’s chest went tight in a whole new way, warmth spreading through him. He leaned forward before he knew what he was doing and pressed his lips to Steve’s. Steve leaned closer, returning the kiss. His fingers carded through Bucky’s hair and he cupped the back of Bucky’s head. Bucky couldn’t imagine a better place to be.

                What he was not prepared for was Steve climbing over the center console to sit on his lap. Bucky felt heat flood his face and stomach. “What are you-?”

                Steve rubbed his neck. “It’s uncomfortable to keep kissing you at that angle… so I thought I’d just… move.”

                Bucky smirked. “You’re such an old man sometimes.”

                Steve smacked his arm and rolled his eyes. “You’re two years older than me. And you were unfrozen a lot longer than I was so if anyone’s old here, it’s you.”

                “Says the guy who complains about a stiff back almost every morning.”

                “The beds Tony gets are too soft!!” Steve nearly shouted. “It doesn’t work for me!”

                Bucky snickered and kissed him again, enjoying the taste on his lips. The smell of Steve this close. Feeling Steve bristle in surprise and then relax and press again him. Bucky ran his hands over him, down to his waist and hips, resting his hands on Steve’s ass.

                Just as Steve started unzipping his jacket, there came a knock on the window and a bright light in the driver side door. Steve sat up quickly, hitting his head on the car roof.

                “Alright,” said a gruff voice from outside. “You kids should know better than to do this kind of thing here. Let me see your license.”

                Steve sighed and crawled over to the driver’s seat, pulling out his wallet and handing his ID to the officer. Bucky couldn’t stop smirking.

                “Wait _Rogers_!?” The flashlight glared in Bucky’s eyes and the officer’s voice was nothing short of scandalized. “And _Barnes_. What are _you_ doing parking like a pair of teenagers!?”

                Bucky leaned over to look out the window at the officer. “My fault. I started things.”

                The officer rolled his eyes. “Did not need to know that, Barnes.” He frowned at Steve. “I hope you know what you’re doing getting involved with that trouble maker.”

                “Come on,” Bucky sighed. “We just turned over a crime boss to you!”

                “Which is why I’m gonna let you off with a warning,” the officer grumbled. “Do not let me catch you _celebrating_ like this again.” He stalked off back to his car and drove away.

                Steve slumped back into the driver’s seat, looking just as frazzled as the officer. Bucky couldn’t help but snicker.

                “Come on… Let’s go back to the Tower.”

                Steve put the car in drive. “Let’s hope none of them hear word of this before we get back.”

                Bucky leaned back into his seat. The rest of the drive to the Tower was quiet, but getting to see Steve nearly run a red light because he was still thrown off was _so_ worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Pretty detailed descriptions of anxiety symptoms. Mentions of clawing skin. Flashbacks. Panic attacks. Nightmares. Dysphoria talk happens again. Bucky talks about hating his body and parts of it feeling wrong. Both the arm and other things. Though he only specifies the arm.
> 
> Next chapter should be the last one (Unless the characters run away with me again like they did in this one). And if it is, the rating will go up.
> 
>  
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There be smut in this chapter.
> 
> See end of chapter for trigger warnings. For any trans guys reading please check the description at the end. I really don’t want any of you guys getting triggered during this. (I don’t want anyone getting triggered but I have specific worries this time.)

The Tower was quiet. Some of the Avengers were still off on patrol or missions. Stark was likely in his lab as usual. So no one noticed when Steve and Bucky returned. Steve stopped in front of the door to his room and looked over at Bucky, cheeks a little pink.

                “Would you like to stay in my room for the night?” Steve asked.

                Bucky smirked a little and walked with him into the room. Steve shut and locked the door behind him and near immediately pulled off his shirt, tossing it into the laundry basket. It wasn’t nearly the first time Bucky had seen Steve shirtless. But this time things felt completely different. He stared at Steve’s back, watching the muscles move as Steve turned to face him. A heavier blush rose in Steve’s face.

                “What?”

                “Just appreciating the view.” Bucky smirked.

                Steve rolled his eyes. He looked Bucky over and undid the straps on his Kevlar. Bucky immediately froze. This wouldn’t be the first time Steve had seen him naked either. It had happened a few times before. While Steve was teaching how to care for himself after what Hydra did to him. But a new wave of fear swept over him. The scars and the fact that his body was different didn’t matter when they were friends. It wasn’t like Steve was going to do anything with him. He was going to find himself a nice girl and get married like the poster boy the world thought he was.

                But here standing in Steve’s room being carefully undressed, that idea came crashing down. And he couldn’t move. Every slur hydra ever threw at him rang in his brain. Every insult. Bucky couldn’t subject Steve to that. Steve deserved someone better. Someone less broken. Less disgusting.

                Bucky jumped at the feeling of Steve’s hand on his face.

                “What is it?” Steve asked, voice soft.

                Bucky looked down. “Are you sure you want this… with me?”

                “Of course,” said Steve. “Why wouldn’t I?”

                “You could have anyone…” Bucky couldn’t stop himself from shaking. “Anyone would be lucky to have you too. I don’t want you to be stuck with me because you feel like you _have_ to be because of your stupid mar-”

                Bucky stopped when Steve kissed him with even more enthusiasm than in the car. His hand cupped the back of Bucky’s head and tilted just ever so slightly, leaving Bucky gasping as he felt Steve’s breath join his own. Steve’s other arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him as close as possible. Steve dragged his teeth gently over Bucky’s lower lip and he gripped Bucky’s hair, pulling just enough to sting. A moan escaped Bucky’s mouth before he even knew what was happening. They stayed like that, Steve’s lips moving without the hesitance there was in the car, until they both needed to breathe more the small gasps between kisses.

                Steve pulled away just enough to stare Bucky in the eyes. “When I said I loved you I meant it.” He smiled and slid his hand down to Bucky’s neck, thumb stroking his jaw. “You saved my ass more times than anyone. You were always there for me… always believed in me. Even when I barely weighed 120 pounds soaking wet. I can’t tell you how it feels to have the most handsome man you’ve ever seen just run to your rescue. As much as it frustrated me that I couldn’t do things on my own, the most calming thing in the world was knowing that you’d always be there for me. The worst parts of the war were the times after I thought you were dead… Even waking up in the 21st century didn’t hurt as much as that.”

                Bucky’s whole body felt too warm. Pressed against Steve like this. His words made him feel lightheaded. Nearly every worry he had about trying to have this relationship with Steve disappeared. Steve went back to taking off Bucky’s armor and clothes. He led him to the bed, laying him down on it and crawled over top of him. He pressed his lips to the scars on Bucky’s chest. His stomach. The seam on his body where his metal shoulder met flesh. Sucked at his collar bone, surely leaving a mark.

                “You’re so handsome, Bucky,” Steve said it like it was the only real truth in the world. More reverent than when he prayed.

                Steve continued to run calloused fingers across Bucky’s body. Gentle scraping that sent shivers through him. Steve kissed the large scar under his pectoral, sucked gently on the nipple above it. Bucky resisted every urge to squirm. To press his body closer to Steve. To move with his hands. The fear that this moment would leave him if he didn’t remain perfectly clinging to him. That this could all be a dream. Instead he gripped the sheets, holding himself in place.

                Steve kissed down his stomach, pausing to suck gently at the skin over his hip bone. “Bucky, _relax_ ,” Steve kept his voice soft. Calm. Soothing. Nuzzled Bucky’s legs, gently spreading them apart. Kissed between his legs next, tongue running over Bucky’s opening, and it sent a shiver through him. Bucky gripped the mattress again and rested one of his legs on Steve’s shoulder. Steve ran his hand over his other thigh, massaging gently as he kissed and licked. Bucky wanted to whine every time Steve’s nose brushed against his dick. Contact not lasting nearly long enough.

                And then Steve got his mouth on it and _sucked_. It sent another full body shudder through Bucky and a he let out a moan.

                “ _Steve_.” He barely recognized his own voice.

                Steve smirked up at him and kissed the inside of his thigh. “Believe me now?”

                Bucky grabbed a fist full of Steve’s hair and pushed him back down. “I swear to god if you stop I’m going to kill you.”

                Steve chuckled and circled his tongue around Bucky’s dick. His teeth _just_ barely scraped over the skin, adding a little extra friction, before he took him in his mouth again and sucked. Steve’s mouth kept working. Had Bucky panting and gasping and moaning his name. And right as the sensations were almost too much, Steve pulled away.

                “What-”

                “Ssshhh,” Steve crawled up and kissed his cheek. “Sorry to stop, but I wanted this to last a little longer than that.”

                Bucky smacked Steve’s arm. And Steve, like the asshole he is, just smirked at him. Before Bucky could say anything else, Steve’s mouth was against his. Kissing. It tasted a little weird this time, the taste of himself on Steve’s lips. But Bucky could care less. Just wanted Steve close again. When Steve pressed against him, he felt the heat of Steve’s cock against his thigh. Bucky shifted his leg, rubbing against him. Steve let out a shaky breath and groaned into Bucky’s mouth.

                Bucky reached down with his real hand and grabbed Steve’s cock, squeezed just a little. He was immediately greeted with a thrust from Steve. Bucky took a deep breath and guided Steve’s cock down, tip resting against the opening.

                “You sure?” Steve asked. “I didn’t know if…”

                Bucky cut him off with a kiss. “I’m sure.”

                Steve nodded and kissed him again. Bucky winced a little as Steve started to press inside. The head felt too big. Like he was never going to fit. But Bucky wanted this. Wanted this so badly his body ached.

                “Bucky, you need to relax or this is going to hurt,” Steve warned.

                “Already hurts a little,” Bucky sighed. He cut Steve off before he could ask if he wanted to stop. He was a little grateful that Steve was so concerned about making him feel comfortable, safe. But right now he knew over thinking things was just going to take him out of this. Make him afraid that Steve didn’t want this. So he just wanted Steve to fuck him already. “Keep going.”

                Steve’s eyebrows furrowed a little, worried, but he leaned forward and kissed him. Bucky felt Steve’s arm between them, guiding his cock back into the right place. Steve’s arm rubbed against Bucky’s dick and he gasped. There was another hiss of pain as Steve pushed in further and Bucky suddenly felt so much pressure inside him.

                Bucky arched and grabbed onto Steve’s shoulders to ground himself. He felt Steve’s hips flush with his own and he wrapped his legs around him.

                “How you feeling, Buck?” Steve asked. Steve stroking his cheek gently, thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

                “Great,” Bucky leaned into Steve’s hand. “Just don’t move yet… give me a little bit to get used to this…”

                Steve kissed him. “Anything you need.” He nipped Bucky’s lips. Kissed down his jaw to his neck and sucked a hickie while waiting. Bucky couldn’t help but roll his hips. Too warm. Too happy. Too much _amazing_ pressure. He was rewarded with the best groan from Steve.

                “Bucky,” Steve’s voice came barely above a whisper.

                Bucky rolled his hips again and Steve _finally_ took the cue. To Steve’s credit he tried to go slow at first. His careful thrusts had Bucky arching as he felt every movement inside him.

                “Steve, harder,” Bucky practically whined. “Don’t worry about hurting me. I can take it.”

                And for once Steve didn’t argue. Just jerked his hips forward and groaned in Bucky’s ear. Steve braced his arms on either side of Bucky’s head and started thrusting in earnest.

                “You feel so good, Buck,” his voice completely wrecked. “So warm and-” a moan as Bucky scratched at his back to pull him closer. “And-” another gasp. _“fuck_ you’re squeezing me.”

                Bucky felt like he should say something. But with Steve gasping and moaning compliments and saying his name like it was something holy had him speechless. Just grabbed at Steve’s back, enjoying the feeling of his body rubbing against him. Inside him. Everything felt hot. So arm. So much blissful pressure and sometimes Steve would angle his hips just right and hit this spot inside him that had Bucky moaning Steve’s name. Pleading for something he didn’t know.

                Steve kissed him again and groaned. And a new warmth spread inside Bucky.  Steve was flushed all over and sweating and wouldn’t stop thrusting his hips. He moved his hand and just started rubbing at Bucky’s dick like there was nothing else that mattered in the world.

                Bucky gasped and arched his back, taking a fistful of Steve’s hair in one hand and digging his nails into Steve’s back with the other. Steve just kept rubbing and moving inside him and it became too much. And overwhelming heat spread through Bucky’s body and he shuddered. All he could think about was the pleasure and feeling Steve and the soft kisses Steve placed on his temple and the hushed “That’s it, Bucky.” The feeling seemed to go on forever and Steve just kept stroking him through it.

                Bucky collapsed back onto the bed, head rolling back onto the pillow. Steve gently wiped some of the drool from the corner of his mouth and pulled out.

                “How you feeling, Buck?” Steve asked.

                “Bucky’s not here,” he muttered. Couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

                Steve chuckled and laid down beside him, playing with his hair. “I love you…”

                Bucky rolled over, laying his head on Steve’s chest and enjoying the feeling of nails gently scraping against his scalp. “I love you too.”

                He curled like that against Steve and drifted off, feeling perfectly at ease for the first time. They’d work out the details after a nap. But right now, the warm, the closeness, and the knowledge that Steve loved him was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General trigger warnings: Dysphoria talk. Bucky worries that being trans will ruin things with Steve. Steve isn’t transphobic in the slightest. (they never actually use the word “trans” cause I don’t think either of them would, but that’s what’s happening. Hopefully you weren’t waiting for Bucky to blatantly call himself trans… or demi for that matter. Sorry?? That’s what I have in mind as his orientation. I never planned on using those exact words in the fic.)
> 
> Sex stuff: I refer to Bucky’s junk as dick and front hole as that tends to be the least triggering language for most trans guys. (Language used in trans guy smut fics on ao3 tends to irk me for that reason.) Steve gives Bucky oral and front hole penetration happens. If that really squicks you out or is triggering but sorry you’ll have to sit this one out. I’m likely going to write other shorts where they have different types of sex but that’s what happens this time.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading and sticking with me through this fic you guys <3 I really appreciate all your messages so much! I wasn’t expecting to get the ones I did and I appreciate every single one of them <3 you guys are the best. Thanks so much for reading!


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